


Sapphire

by wheel_pen



Series: Loose Gems [14]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Gelsomina, Slavery, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 09:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3890980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A warrior slave is captured by the enemy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sapphire

**Author's Note:**

> The bad words are censored; that’s just how I do things.   
> Inherent in slavery and other forms of subjugation are dubious consent, unhealthy relationships, and violence.  
> I hope you enjoy this original work, which was inspired by many different stories.
> 
> For visual reference, Sapphire is played by Christian Bale.

            The knock on his door was unexpected, and he paused in his exercise, waiting to see who would enter. It was not a mealtime, not the doctor’s regular time to make sure he wasn’t using his injured arm. He was not surprised, however, to see the dusky-skinned, dark-haired woman revealed by the opening door—she had been visiting him every day since his capture, sometimes more than once. She was, he admitted, a beautiful woman, regal and exotic with an aura of mystery about her, practically prerequisites for the position of Sorceress-queen.

            She smiled a little when she saw him sitting on the floor, and the gesture broke through the off-putting “aura” to highlight her youth and warmth. He shook his head and tore his gaze away from her, irritated at his increasingly favorable reaction to the woman who was, after all, his captor. He must never let himself forget that.

            “Sapphire,” she greeted in her rich alto, “I hope you’re being careful.”

            He was pleased to find that his immediate response was genuine annoyance. He’d caused himself injury once, but that was a mistake he did not intend to repeat. “I hardly think sit-ups are going to put a strain on my arm,” he replied brusquely, cradling the broken limb against his well-muscled chest.

            “No, I suppose not,” she agreed. She seemed a little distracted today, he noticed. She hadn’t even remembered to shut the door behind herself; he had a clear path to the door that led to the hallway, if you didn’t count the half-dozen trained swordsmen waiting in the outer room. A few weeks ago he _wouldn’t_ have counted them, but now... Experimentally he wiggled the fingers of his right hand and felt the ache travel up his arm. Now it would be quite a while before he could even dress himself without discomfort.

            She drifted over to where he’d tossed his shirt before exercising and picked up the crumpled garment, shaking it unnecessarily. He watched the sway of her light blue skirt as the filmy fabric twisted and swirled around her long legs, the glints of adorning silver sparkling in the lamplight. Her short-sleeved, midriff-baring top molded to her figure and was on a matching material, and he could just see her leather sandals peeking out from under the skirt, the straps woven with satiny ribbon. When she was acting in some official capacity he attire was much more formal, more “impressive,” but found that he preferred her current style. Not that he had much of an opinion on it, he reminded himself firmly.

            She turned to face him, her long dark hair swinging under its sky blue veil. “You should have your bath soon,” she suggested, draping the shirt over a chair. “And perhaps we can find you something else to wear.”

            “Why?” he asked, suddenly suspicious. He usually bathed at the end of the day, and he already felt that the two outfits he had were one too many. He tried to scoot himself back against the foot of the bed without her noticing, and when she glanced in his direction he leaned on it casually, as if he were only getting comfortable. As soon as her back was turned, however, he clamored to his feet awkwardly, with only one arm to assist him, and stood waiting impatiently for her answer. For a brief moment he thought perhaps that she had turned away deliberately, giving him time to be awkward without an audience, but he refused to indulge that thought any farther.

            “You will have a visitor this afternoon,” she revealed, facing him again. Her little smile was back; she seemed pleased, or maybe just amused, by the event.

            “Who?” he demanded, surprised. He couldn’t even conjure up the name of one likely person who would visit him in this prison—unless of course she meant some “specialist” of hers. No, he decided, she seemed too... _jumpy_ for the visitor to be one of her own people.

            “General Giaggi,” she replied, waiting for his reaction.

            His deep blue eyes widened in shock. “The General?” he repeated, completely thrown off. His mind sputtered to make sense of the news, but no logical explanation for his mentor’s visit was constructed. Finally he had to ask. “Why is the General coming here?”

            Her smile broadened into a full-fledged grin. She was indeed amused, if still a bit wary. “To bargain for your release, of course.”

            Sapphire almost burst into elated laughter at the prospect of release—although a small, muffled part of himself was a little disappointed that he would be leaving her company—but he stopped himself just in time. She would not be so happy if she didn’t believe—“But he’s not going to succeed, is he?” he accused.

            “Certainly not,” she assured him. “I intend to keep you right here with me.” Her voice dropped to a low purr, and her dark eyes swept over him with possessive gaze that excited him as much as it made him uncomfortable.

            The tension in the room grew until he had to turn away, then back, his expression hard. “The General will stop at nothing to get me back,” he insisted angrily. “If your price is too high, he’ll take your castle down block by block to rescue me!”

            She didn’t look too worried. “My price _will_ be too high,” she replied smoothly, “and without you in the battle, they won’t be able to come within five miles of the castle.” Strega Cira drew closer, close enough to run a long, elegant finger down the black cloth of the sling holding his broken arm. He found himself barely breathing, and each breath was drawing in the distinctive sandalwood aroma that clung to her. Sapphire struggled to remember what they had been talking about. “I will be kind,” she assured him, voice low. “Your army will not be wiped out. But they will leave this desert empty-handed, just as your owner leaves this castle.”

            Her words cut through the happy fog in his brain and he jerked away from her. “The General is not my _owner_ ,” he spat angrily.

            “No?” she replied. “Then you are owned by the King, and only rented to the General?” Sapphire turned away from her, unwilling to admit that she had described the situation all too accurately. “Is your sword arm the only thing that’s rented out?”

            He whirled back around, blue eyes blazing in fury. “I may be only a slave,” he hissed deliberately, “a slave who _fights_ at their command”—he emphasized the word to rule out any other activities—“but I’m the best warrior in the whole country. General Giaggi will get me out, and together we will turn your castle into one more pile of rocks at the foot of the mountains.”

            He was so angry his muscles nearly shook when he spoke, but she appeared unperturbed by his outburst. “The future is dim to me at the moment,” she admitted carefully, “but I do not sense my destruction in it.” She smiled a little then, but he was in no mood to appreciate it. “Get ready. Your visitor will be here soon.” With that final reminder she turned and glided out the door, pulling it firmly shut behind her.

            **

            Just a few hours later he was cleaned, dressed, and more eager than ever to see his commanding officer. The Sorceress had treated him reasonably well during his captivity—certainly much better than he had expected—but the thought of being freed had consumed him ever since her visit. The General would find a way to get him out; he was the shrewdest strategist Sapphire knew, and if the Strega wouldn’t allow him to bargain successfully, the General would use force or cunning instead. As soon as he was out of this unnerving castle, Sapphire decided, he would--well, he would have to recuperate a little first, but then he could go back to the fight.

            _And then what?_ a small, persistent voice inside his head asked. You get not a warrior’s share of the spoils, not land or title, but whatever scraps the King chooses to reward you with. You sleep separated from your weapons. You go where you are told and fight when you are ordered, with no hope of advancement that even a common foot solider would have. And if the King or one of his favorites should suddenly decide you are wanted for _more_ than your sword arm... He had seen that fate befall other slaves, even those who were originally intended for other purposes, and it was not something he looked forward to.

            Sapphire tamped that voice down, though, and told himself to concentrate on the meeting. He debated over wearing the sling, then tossed it aside and pulled the sleeve of his blue jacket down over the unyielding splint holding his broken arm straight as the bones knit. He looked better without it, he decided.

            The guards came to fetch him, leading him down the halls sandwiched between four of them, a number that hadn’t changed despite his injury. The walls of the castle were a curious white, always gleaming as if they were scrubbed every day, and the air carried just a hint of scent, different around each turn, spices or flowers or herbs. He was led into the main chamber, an impressive area of dangling crystal chimes, exotic statuary, and draped fabric that glittered in the light of dozens of candles and torches. He had to push aside a fringe of beads just to reach the elegantly carved throne where Strega Cira sat, this time arrayed like a sun goddess in deep orange, with an enormous headdress of golden rays. Frankly Sapphire preferred her more ordinary costumes; in a creation like that she couldn’t even give him a warm smile. Not that he wanted one of course.

            The beads on the other side of the room parted and General Giaggi stepped in stiffly, warily. He wore the same type of tunic and trousers that Sapphire had come with, freshly washed of battle stains in honor of this meeting. He was a large, barrel-chested man; his hair was beginning to silver, but any who thought him old or slow were to be unpleasantly surprised.


End file.
